A wood elf in Skyrim
by SteffiSyndrom
Summary: Unfamiliar to this country she had been thrown in, Ruthalia is not only confronted with an unwanted burden but also with secrets and conspiracies that go deeper than even the Graybeards thought. As she stumbles over the beautiful Karliah things get even more complicated. Torn between love and fate she will face a war that was never hers.
1. Chapter 1

On the back of her armored mount Ruthalia thought it was time to finally do what she had been told to do ever since she first entered Whiterun.

Go and see the Greybeards.

This gave her not only an opportunity to find out more about the Dragonborn legend, but also the chance to discover more of this unknown country. Supposedly, there was someone in Ivarstead who knew about the Greybeards.

Ruthalia pulled out a map, trying to figure out how to get there, scanning the drawing of Skyrim with her wood elf eyes. She was from Valenwood but had been pulled into this strange land when she had joined a fight against a group of soldiers that attacked a party of hunters just outside of Skyrim. The soldiers had captured her and taken her with them, along with many others.

Staring at the map, the soft rhythm of the riding mount beneath her caused memories of that day to float to the surface.

Ruthalia remembered the cold stone under her cheek, as she placed her head on the filthy block, waiting for her execution. She had taken her destiny silently.

And then there was the dragon.

He had appeared on top of the tower, roaring and arching his black wings. Massive. Frightening. His simple presence awesome enough to cause the whole village to hold its breath.

Too late.

They saw it opening its huge mouth, with teeth as sharp as the finest steel, longer than daggers, and then the roar followed by a wave of flames, swallowing the roof tops of the wooden houses. Then chaos.

Forgotten was the execution as everyone ran for their lives. Little mice, running from the hawk.

Ruthalia had gotten herself up and looked for a way to escape the massacre. The flames were soon all around her, wooden boards flying through the air like tooth picks. Crashes, screaming, roaring and shouting. The dragon's wings soaring into the air, strong and leathery. She still remembered the sound of them beating, carrying it over the village, supporting it while it shot more and more fire balls down onto the lost village. Guards tried to shoot it, their bows and arrows ready - missing. They missed each time.

She blinked as a butterfly flew right past her, interrupting her reverie. It was fairly big but nothing compared to the size it could reach in Valenwood. A soft smile spread over her face. Ruthalia reached out with one of her arms and the little insect landed peacefully on her hand, yellow wings flapping lightly. The horse was moving through a small, beautiful forest. The sound of its hooves on the dirt path a gentle thumping. The air was thick with pollen and heavy from the heat. The sun was shining bright on a perfectly blue sky. Several birds were singing and she could make out some deer in the distance, moving through some scrub, her sharpened elven senses enabling her to do so.

The butterfly, now taking off into the air again, caught her attention for just a moment. Its little fluttering wings nothing compared to the dragon …

"Watch out now!" the Imperial soldier shouted as the black dragon landed right on top of the house closest to them.

All Ruthalia could see was its huge wing, for fortunately it was facing the other direction, spitting more of its hungry flames onto the already dead village.

Sneaking past it they ran for the next shelter, but too late. The dragon had caught their movement in the corner of its huge eyes.

Almost grinning, it let its massive form drop down in front of them. Growling from deep within its throat it prepared to cause more death, the first bits of flames dancing around its cavernous mouth, curling around its snout like snakes.

The moment seemed to last forever as Ruthalia found herself eye to eye with the great beast. And even though it had caused so much misery, death and destruction she found it utterly amazing and beautiful. And that amazement would have cost Ruthalia her life, if a blond Nord had not shown up and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the way. Not a second too late, either, for where Ruthalia had just been standing there, was now a black, burned spot on the earth.

Breathing heavily she stared at her rescuer for a while, then they both headed for the main watchtower. They charged through the side-entrance and slammed the door behind them.

She blinked and shook her head, clearing the last of the fiery images floating before her inner eye. Her mount was blowing deeply out of its nostrils and it had slowed down a little, stomping its feet every so often, seeming nervous. The Wood Elf pricked her ears to the sounds of the woodland around her and narrowed her eyes for signs of danger. There was nothing, only a wagon that had broken down at the side of the road, sacks, barrels, vegetables and clothes scattered everywhere. That was until she spotted a man not far from the wagon, cowering and alone. His clothes looking dirty and torn. A big bow was fastened on his back however, along with a stack of arrows.

Ruthalia narrowed her eyes and stopped her horse. In one swift movement, she swung off its back and stepped up to the lonely figure. What would anybody be doing out here?

"Are you all right?"

"I … I got attacked. A bunch of bandits ambushed me on the way to Ivarstead and stole most of my goods," he stuttered, shaking a little.

Ruthalia wrinkled her forehead, trying to figure out what it was about this man that seemed rather foul and fake. She decided not to answer.

"They took off with it, but can't be far."

"Lead the way," she said after another moment of silence, still wary. She knew his kind all too well. A decoy. This was not the first time somebody had tried to lure her into a trap. And it was definitely not the best of lies she had encountered either.

"Their camp is right across the bridge," he exclaimed excitedly, happy over the help it would seem. Ruthalia's mind was working as she followed him slowly, carefully. _Why would he know of their camp and why would he sit so close to it. It makes no sense, guards passing by would be at their throats in no time. Definitely one of the most pathetic lies, _she agreed to herself.

She could see it almost immediately after they passed the bridge. There was a little cooking spit over a strongly burning fire, barrels here and there. Sacks filled with all kinds of things. A small table close to a tent. And then the shouting.

"Haha! I got you!" the helpless man cheered, not so helpless anymore.

The first few archers appeared on top of the stairs of some ruins, their arrows ready and pointing at Ruthalia. But she had been expecting a trap and had her bow ready as well. Before anyone else could act, the not-so-helpless-man had an arrow sticking out of his forehead and dropped aside with a thump.

"Get her!" more voices shouted, now coming from everywhere.

Bandits with swords came running out of the corners of the small camp, more archers appeared from behind left over walls. Ruthalia's hands were swift and, one after another, they each followed the first archer's miserable fate. But taking care of the archers had given the swordsmen a chance to get closer, and Ruthalia was forced to pull her blade as well. Enchanted with a Soul Trap that would fill some of the Soulgems she carried, it glowed a mysterious pale blue. But the bandits didn't hesitate to slack at her with their dull blades. She blocked the first hit, coming straight down at her, then she made a swirl and her blade slit open the bandit's stomach, guts spilling out hot on the cold stones of the bridge she was still standing and fighting on. But another bandit soon took the others place and tried his luck on her as well. Their problem was that they didn't cooperate. The leader was shouting commands from further away, but their filthy characters were out for money and their own sakes, trying to get to her first in order to claim all her goods before their leader could.

Two more bandits fell.

Ruthalia kicked their lifeless bodies off the bridge to make more room, awaiting the angry leader.

"Useless dogs!" he mumbled, coming at her with raised blade and readied shield. He was using an Orcish weapon, the blade razor sharp with a cluster of nasty spikes. He managed, more out of luck than actual skill, to cut into Ruthalia's thigh. She stepped back a few inches, to gather herself, the wound caused by the dirty sword burning like fire.

She clenched her teeth and with an angry moan closed in for the kill. Her Daedric sword easily cut through the bandit's helmet and went straight down into his brain, killing him immediately. He dropped down in front of her, blood splashing onto her bare arm and staining her armor. _Damn, that will need some serious cleaning later, _she thought sarcasticly, wiping her blade on the dead body of the leader.

Breathing heavily she stood there for a moment or two, before she started looting the bodies.


	2. Chapter 2

When she arrived in Ivarstead the first thing she did was check in at the inn.

She was exhausted from the long ride and the fights. Every single muscle in her body was aching and there was still the untreated wound on her thigh. It made the Vilemyr Inn more than a welcome sight.  
It was fairly big and, like most buildings in Skyrim, made of wood. In the center was a long fireplace, over which some food was cooking, sending its rich fragrance through the whole inn, causing Ruthalia's stomach to growl.

There were several benches and tables, all set up with plates and tankards. Garlic bulbs, pheasants and rabbits were hanging off the roof, right over the counter where a middle-aged man stood. He wore a regular cut, large shirt, tucked into brown pants. Bulky hands were washing the counter with a cloth.

"How can I help you?" he asked with a deep voice and a strong Nord accent.

"I'd like to rent a room."

"Sure, it's yours for a day." Ruthalia handed him ten gold. "Heard any rumors lately?" she asked out of curiosity.

The man hesitated for a while. "Have you seen the barrow yet?" he said. "There has been talk of it being haunted. I don't know whether to believe it or not, but every time someone tried to investigate the barrow they never came back."

Heavy silence followed for a moment before Ruthalia suggested looking into it. She believed in the supernatural. She still remembered having seen lost souls in a graveyard. They had left in the dead of night, a full moon was embracing the world with its silver light and warmth. The master had said it would be a perfect night. Ruthalia had not understood what he was talking about, but, as always she had followed him nontheless.

She had been a little frightened as she realized he was taking her to a graveyard, but as he put his big hand on her small shoulder, the weight reassuring, her fears vanished almost immediately. They sat on top of a hill, looking down at the many tombstones. Row after row. And then the first spirits would creep out of their resting places, coming back to a state of life, way beyond anybody's knowledge or imagination. Swirling through the nightsky, over the hills and fields, peacefully and almost artistic, like dancers. Sometimes they would embrace each other, or fade into the moonlight, reach for the stars. Vanish and reappear again. It had been a perfect night indeed.

Her fascination for the dead, however, was not the only reason Ruthalia accepted to investigate the barrow. She was desperate for money and aside from earning the innkeepers gratefulness, she enjoyed having a puzzle to solve.

The innkeeper seemed relieved that she was willing to give it a try and gave her a smile. "That would be very much appreciated," he said. "Just be careful out there. For now, I'll show you to your room. Right this way."

He lead her into a small room not far from where they were. It didn't even seem to have a door, just a curtain hung over the entrance, but it had a bed, a chair and a table and this was all Ruthalia needed.

She thanked the man and dropped some of her stuff on the floor, pushing it under the bed just in case there was anyone interested in selling stolen goods. She sat down on the relatively soft bed and had a few bites of cooked venison and bread she had bought from a friendly Khajit along the way. Then, she inspected her wound.

It was not infected yet and luckily it wasn't very deep either. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, calming her mind and body, then let the magic flow through her hand as a white glow and into the wound.

There was a sparkling sound and the wound began to close. With a sigh of relief she opened her brown eyes again and allowed herself a smile.

After a bottle of ale she felt refreshed and was ready to look into this supposedly haunted barrow. She checked her weapons, and left the inn.

As a wood elf, ghosts and spirits were no myth to her, but neither were they something to fear. The day was still young, for she had ridden through the night, and the sun was shining brightly and cheerfully. No cloud spoiled the blue sky and several birds were singing their songs. A soft, cool breeze was blowing through Ruthalia's reddish hair and stroked over her oval face. She closed her eyes as she lifted her head towards the sun and felts its warmth on her skin.

It reminded her of a day with her master. It was a day like this, when he had taken her into a deep, uninhabited cave. She had not been older than maybe seven summers. She remembered how afraid she was. Her heart was pounded faster with every step that took them deeper into the all consuming darkness. The only thing keeping her going was the silhouette of her master.

"Are you okay, Ruthalia?" he stopped to squad down before her. His voice was as soft as his eyes, which she could make out even in the deepest darkness. "You don't need to be afraid. There is nothing in here that you could not overcome, nothing that you could not face and fight. And I am here to help you.

"Don't you want to know what's in here?"

"I do," she said after a moment of hesitation, wrestling her little hands before her. "But I can't see anything, master. All this darkness scares me, I can barely see you. What if I lose you? I don't wanna lose you!" her voice rising a little higher with that last sentence, her eyes a little bigger with fear of that thought.

He smiled and messed up her hair "Now, now. What happened with my strong and fearless Ruthalia? Did the Frost Spiders get her?"

Ruthalia quickly, changed her posture, as if he had pushed a button, and shook her head wildly.

"Good! The darkness is nothing to be afraid of, Ruthalia. It can be your friend, your ally and your companion. It can be tricky, too, and sometimes make you see and hear things that aren't there. But it only does that, when it notices your fear.

"Darkness and fear are like constant opponents. They both try to mock each other. But while darkness will embrace and welcome you, fear will only tease you. Rarely has fear something smart to say. Most of the time, all it tries to do is slow you down, or even stop you completely."

"I am not afraid of fear! Fear cannot hurt me!" she said, lifting her chin proudly.

"Then why don't you lead the way, dear?" he suggested. The soft and amused smile unseen by Ruthalia.

She swallowed loudly and took a deep breath. She walked past her master and headed deeper into the cave. It took a while but pretty soon she noticed things she had been blind to before. She saw a big beetle's, shiny, green carapace. A thousand little legs supporting it as it climbed the rough walls, its little antennas twitching with every move, orienting itself.

High pitched sounds, barely audible even to her increased hearing, made her tilt her head back to look up at the ceiling, many feet above her. She could barely make out tiny, red glowing eyes. At first just a couple, then several and soon a dozen more. Before even her master noticed them, Ruthalia grabbed his arm and pulled so he would hunch down with her. Loud squeaking noises and the fast swapping of leathery wings went right over and past them, light bursts of wind hitting their backs, messing with their hair. As the sounds decreased they stood back up and looked after the winged creatures.

After a moment of silence, they both looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Bats. I should have thought of that. Well done, Ruthalia," the master complimented her, causing her to blush a little and a shy smile found its way on her face.

They moved on for quite a bit - the little wood elf proud of her new found calmness - before Ruthalia noticed that something about the area had changed. She narrowed her eyes to see a little further, to be sure that her thoughts were correct.

Light. She noticed very dim light in the distance.

They must have found the exit. Or _an_ exit. She had no idea how big the cave really was and there was no way of telling unless they spend several days in the darkness, or at least made a torch. But Ruthalia knew that it was all part of making her like the master. And that's exactly what she wanted to be. Like her master.

They got closer and soon found themselves in broad daylight. It took Ruthalia several minutes to adjust her sight to the changed surrounding, but, once the light did not hurt her eyes anymore, she was in awe.

The cave had ended right before a beautiful, secluded glade. A large and silent stream lay before them, surrounded by towering, dark green pine trees. High grass grew in patches, some of it even in the stream, swaying gently to the rhythm of the wind.

Wildflowers were declaring their territory, spreading untamed all over the enchanting glade. Butterflies were enriching the glade with dozens of colors. Blue, purple, pink, orange, yellow and many more. Bees were filling the air with constant, soft humming and light vibrating. Birds were chirping and presenting their voices to the world. This place, so sweet and inviting, was like another world all by itself.

Ruthalia smiled and looked over to her master. He stood right next to her, a peaceful smile on his face, too. The sun was shining down on them. Ruthalia turned her head away again, lifting it towards the sun, closing her eyes to enjoy its warmth.

Finding the barrow was easy. It was right across the road from the inn, hidden a little behind some houses and bushes. It was black stone, covered with ivy and moss. Most of the entrance had fallen apart already but, once the elf had squeezed her slender self into the broken opening, it increased in size.

The barrow was obviously still used by someone, judging by the two torches burning in front of an iron door. Ruthalia pushed it open with little effort and made her way down a set of circling stairs - not without having grabbed one of the torches beforehand however.

Once down the last step, she was glad she had the light of flames with her. It was almost completely dark. Without a torch, it would have been the same as laying inside a coffin, like she had crossed the boundary between the living and the dead.

"I wonder if master would have agreed," she grinned.

Feeling her sword's reassuring weight on her waist, she took a deep breath of the dusty, stuffy air and moved ahead.

The tunnels were narrow and dirty. Dust clung to every inch of the ancient building. Rats and mice crossed Ruthalia's path every so often. Squeaking and scratching sounds followed her everywhere and caused her stomach to tighten with an uneasy feeling.

Weird howling and moaning sounds seemed to emanate from the thick walls. Dirt was falling off the ceiling, collecting on the worn out floor. To her right was a caged door, to her left were stairs leading deeper into the tomb.

"Leave this place!" a disembodied voice called from behind the caged door, startling Ruthalia. A light apparition was standing right behind the bars, its pale blue hands clinging to the metal, before it faded away.

A sudden grunt made Ruthalia draw her sword with a surprised gasp; the noise echoing loudly in the empty tomb.

A Draugr slashed its black ax straight down at her.

Blocking it just before it could split her head in two, she managed to push the Undead away from her. Where had it come from?! She had expected ghosts, not Undead!

Shocked by its appearance she felt her heart drop into her tightened stomach. Spirits and ghosts were one thing, but the stinking Undead were quite another.

Not letting fear get the best of her however, she drew her sword back to let it come down in return. The creature staggered on its feet, charging with mindless intent, its only purpose to protect whatever was in this tomb. But it did not react fast enough to block Ruthalia's attack, and soon it joined the dust and dirt on the ground.

Its eyes; which at first had been glowing a deep, intense blue; now were dull and colorless like a flame that had gone out.

Ruthalia took a deep breath and gathered herself, moving faster into the tomb, which was not so dead after all.


	3. Chapter 3

After a few more narrow hallways, luckily without further attacks, she had made her way through a doorway and found herself in a large room. The room was further evidence of the structure's old age. Destroyed bookshelves and tables were scattered everywhere. Ruthalia found herself wondering about who had lived here once, what purpose the building had before it turned into a tomb. Her interest in history getting the best of her.

Was it a place where noble people would meet together? The traps and such all part of it to keep uninvited intruders from entering?

Not likely, it was too simple for the higher ranks.

Or was it more likely something for assassins? A secret cult perhaps, now doomed to forever guard these halls?

She shook her head to clear her interested mind and focused on her goal, a caged door straight ahead, where she noticed two levers. Just as she was about to activate both of them she noticed two more, right next to the first two.

Letting her hand drop back down she sighed, annoyed as she inspected the rest of the room, trying to find any kind of hint as to which levers to pull and which not to.

After wasting what felt like an eternity without any further progress, she decided to simply go for luck and pulled the two that were closest to her.

After activating them, she dodged out of the way in order to avoid any traps that might have been triggered and closed her eyes tightly for a second or two.

Not hearing anything but a loud snap and rattling, she guessed that she had done the right thing and opened her eyes again to face the caged door. It was open.

Smiling slightly over her own reaction, she hurried through to the next passageway, her torch still held tightly in one hand and redrew her sword with the other.

After a dozen traps and more living-undead Draugr later she found herself having to make a decision where to go.

There was a doorway to her right, which seemed to lead to another, larger, closed door. On the left, straight ahead, lay another open doorway. Narrowing her eyes, she went for the second choice. She saw a fireplace in the distance, which seemed odd in a place as dead as this. Ruthalia suddenly felt watched and her muscles braced in response.

The room was very small. The fireplace and heavy stone table, along with a chair were all the furnishings it had. It was that chair that claimed Ruthalia's entire attention, for on it sat a ghost. An apparition of an elf, a dark elf as far as she could tell from the build and the hair.

_Aha, that's the haunted fiend!_

Still staring, she did not react fast enough as it turned around and leaped forward. No matter how transparent its appearance, its weapon surely hit hard and cut through flesh as well as any weapon, leaving a deep gash in her arm. With a hiss Ruthalia jumped aside, raising her sword in order to block yet another attack. She managed to stagger the opponent and used the chance to destroy him with two lightning fast strikes.

With a ghostly sigh the spirit vanished, leaving nothing but the empty body it had inhabited. Wrinkling her forehead Ruthalia bent down, trying to ignore the wound on her arm to investigate the corpse.

As she had thought before, it was a dark elf; a Dunmer. His clothes were old and torn and almost completely blended in with his dark, purple skin color. She found some coins in his pocket and claimed them without a second thought, along with a journal and a phial.

The phial was relatively large and contained a pure, white liquid. Its substance was like water and it followed the glass's movement as Ruthalia cocked it a little to the left and right. Her curiosity took over and caused her to open the phial.

Holding the top under her nose she sniffed it, finding it had no fragrance at all. A shrug and a little smile was all the thought she gave it before taking a sip. The liquid ran down her throat as clear as the cleanest water, leaving no taste whatsoever on her tongue.

Expectantly, she waited for something to happen. After she didn't feel any different for several minutes, she shrugged and stood up. She sat down on the chair the ghost of the dark elf had occupied and was about to open the journal when she started and dropped it.

Ruthalia could only make out the vague shapes of her arms and hands, the effects of the phial's liquid now apparent.

Stretching them out in front of her, she turned them, spreading her fingers.

"This could be rather useful," she mumbled, a mischievous smile spreading over her face.

In order to find out more about the phial and the effect, now that she had witnessed it on herself, she picked up the dropped journal and began reading it; _like she should have in the first place_, she imagined her master' chiding.

The journal spoke of a dragon claw, ghosts and the people of the village. The latter had supposedly abandoned him and his beliefs about the supernatural. That was why he had decided to go to the barrow himself - to find out what was there and teach them a lesson. He had used the potion Ruthalia had just discovered to terrify the people that came down, making them pay for their narrow minds.

_ So, not a ghost at all_, she thought. She did not read it very intensely, but just flew over the pages, shaking her head lightly over this entire episode. Ruthalia was not very impressed with such behavior, for she believed that if people did not approve of you in the first place, they did not deserve to be enlightened with your knowledge.

She decided to take the journal with her and show it to the innkeeper, but would keep the potion to herself. You could never tell when such a treasure might come in handy.

Gathering the little she had collected, she headed back out the way she came. The other locked door she had seen from the distance caught her eye, and she stopped … _That must be it, _she thought. _The door he needed that dragon claw for. Maybe that's where all the _really good _treasures are stored._

Without wasting another thought on it however, she was soon breathing fresh air again, making it back out in one piece and with no further misadventures. Smiling over simply being under a blue sky and the warm sun again Ruthalia headed straight for the inn.

"I found this down in the barrow," she said, handing the man the journal.

He looked at it for several minutes, reading through the pages, his face darkening further with every sentence he readWhen he was finished he shook his head, his face an expression of disbelief and sadness.

"He wouldn't listen. We told him not to go down that damned barrow but he had to prove he could and then, just to get even with us, he made himself appear as a ghost. Pah! Humbug! He had it coming, got what he deserved." He shook his head for a moment, then looked up. "But, here. This is for all your troubles, traveler. I found it in his house, after we all declared him gone for good. I have no use for it, but you might be able to sell It for a good prize. Take care and thank you again," he finished, obviously satisfied with the result of having this mystery solved. He set down the claw described in the journal in front of Ruthalia – her reward …

Ruthalia took it carefully and put it away, finding it wise not to examine it in front of everybody else. She gave the man a nod and a smile before she disappeared into her room, pulling the curtain across the doorway behind her.

Even though her curiosity was burning wildly like a flame within her - begging her to take a closer look at the strange artifact - she chose to lay down instead. After all this hassle she needed some rest before she would dare another dive into the barrow.

The second time through was much faster and easier. Pretty soon she found herself in front of familiar door and finally got a chance to look at the dragon claw more closely. It was fine work. The heavy, black stone was shaped almost perfectly like a dragon's paw, the claws made out of sapphire, shining softly even in the dim light of her torch, which she had fastened to the wall.

She turned it around and gasped silently. There were three round symbols, each was a different animal. A moth, an owl and a wolf.

She looked up from the artifact, finding the same symbols on the big door in front of her. The elf wrinkled her forehead and tried to see if she could move something, and indeed she could. There were three heavy stone plates, one at the very top, one in the middle and one furthest down at the bottom. She began with the top, turning the plate from picture to picture, working her way through the various animals carved on the plate until it showed the symbol of the moth. Then she did the same with the second until it showed the owl, and finally turning the third to the symbol of a howling wolf's head.

With a nod she stepped back, the dragon claw still in her firm grip. In the middle of the door was the slight form of a paw scraped into it, along with three holes. Looking down one more time at the tool in her hand, she smiled confidently and put it right on mark. It fit perfectly.

After a second of eager tension it began to turn by itself, soon followed by the plates she had rearranged. She heard a weird clicking noise accompanied by rumbling and finally the door went down into the floor, slowly and sluggishly.

She found herself in a large room, lit by several torches, the flickering flames throwing dancing shadows on the dark, old walls. Dust was flying slowly and peacefully through this forgotten place; through its thick, heavy air.

Ruthalia swallowed hard and placed her hand on her Daedric sword.

She was surrounded by coffins and had no doubt that they were not as empty nor as dead as they appeared. Suddenly, as if something had read her mind, there was a crack right behind her. Startled she jerked around, her weapon sliding out of its sheath at once. The noise drowning in the continuing cracking of the coffins.

"Not more of you," she mumbled, frustrated, but had no time for further cussing. Two Draugr, had emerged, the first one already coming at her, ax swinging over its head.

With a quick sidestep she managed to escape the deadly blow. The other Draugr, waiting till she was near, managed to hit her at the waist. With a moan Ruthalia went down on one knee, - but, with her quick reflexes, built by a lifetime of training, _- built on a lifetime of becoming the master,_ she thought sadly, wishing he was here right now - enabled her to get her left arm up quick enough to prevent another wound, blocking just enough of the force so that her light armor could protect her. Her throat was as dry as her enemies' bodies, the fear of these creatures still heavy as a stone in her stomach. A grunt escaped her mouth as they kept pounding on her when she tried to get up. With a shout of frustration she cut one of the Draugrs' heads off, the skull thumping loudly on the floor.

With a quick swirl she managed to duck away under the other Draugr's attack and cut through its stomach, breaking it with her sharp sword into two pieces. Looking down at the now really and finally dead bodies, she tried to catch her breath and calm her heavily beating heart. But she was not granted much of a break, for the next coffins broke with a loud _crack!_

After another oath, she mumbled some words in an ancient language, concentrating on the powers within – powers given to her through her parents genes. They'd been mages, a secret that had been kept from her for many years.

A purple, misty air-ball appeared in her left palm, which she clenched her fist around, then Ruthalia threw it right between the two newly appeared Undead. The ball burst with a strange sound, like opening a portal to another world, and revealed the ghostly shape of a wolf. Her familiar.

She still remembered how the master had taught her.

"Concentrate on that strange stirring in your stomach, Ruth. Like that," he nodded his approval as she stood there in the middle of the forest, her eyes closed softly, her body relaxed. She still remembered how shocked she was when all of a sudden, the apparition of a wolf had sat in front of her, its transparent tongue hanging out its opened mouth, panting friendly. "A wolf, huh? That suits you," the master had smiled.

A growl ripped Ruthalia out of her memories. She watched the wolf leap at the first enemy in its way, having no problem at all tearing the weak body apart. The other, however, still had Ruthalia as its goal and came straight towards her, walking on scrawny, bony legs, each step making a nasty crunching sound. Ruthalia pulled a face, disgusted by the noise, drawing back her sword to let it come straight down on the Draugr, smashing its skull in two, the pieces joining the cut off head of the other Undead on the floor, soon followed by its lifeless body.

Ruthalia sighed, relieved, thinking the fighting was over. But the ghostly wolf jumped on another Draugr that had appeared behind the her. The undead creatures were no challenge for the familiar, so she decided to try to make her way deeper into the huge room to find what she came here for. Treasures.

Just as she had climbed several steps to a higher level of the room, she was faced with yet another large coffin, bigger than the others.

Ruthalia felt her heart tighten in her chest, still hearing her familiar fight with more awakening Draugrs. Only due to her good hearing, and yet again her trained reflexes, she heard a strange buzzing noise, which quickly seemed to increase in intensity.

Taking a step backwards she suddenly saw an arrow shatter against the hard wall behind her where she had stood not a minute ago. Jerking her head the direction it came from, she looked into the glowing blue eyes of a skeleton aiming at her with another arrow. Ducking down she managed to avoid the next one as well, before she switched the energies inside her, this time calling out to heat, concentrating for just a moment, before she shot a beam of intense flames out of the palm of her left hand; turning the walking pile of bones into a pile of ashes.

Not daring to relax, she got herself ready to face whatever was just about to make its way out of the closed coffin. A hand broke through it first, with the same bleached, wrinkled skin as those of the Draugr, followed by a head wearing an ancient Nord helmet with sharp horns sticking out of it. The horrifying creature made its way all the way through its resting place and stood up, looking straight at its target.

Ruthalia, shivering lightly, did not dare to give it a chance to attack first, and instead swung her spiked sword, cutting through old, undead skin and muscle, that proved to still be strong and flexible. It took a grip of her left hand that still sparked with bits of magical fire dancing around it. She was now only a few inches away from the horror's face, looking deep into the blue, soulless eyes. She felt like she was being swallowed alive, her very being slowly getting sucked into these bottomless pits. Never had she felt greater fear before. Never had she felt such an urge to rip herself away from this monster and run away, as far as she could. There was not much Ruthalia feared, but that thing was to haunt her dreams forever, she knew that for a fact.

The howl of her vanishing familiar finally pulled Ruthalia out of her numbness, and enabled her to gather herself back together.

But the creature's grip was firm, like iron, and it prepared for something as it opened its mouth and sucked in air. Had she not done it herself before, she would have had no idea what was about to come next. But she too had done it, she too had 'shouted.'

With all her strength she pulled her hand free and ducked, not a second too soon, for a blast of air shot right over her head, its force ruffling her red hair.

Using the short confusion of her enemy not seeing its opponent flying across the room, she smashed her sword clear through the beast's legs, cutting them off and causing it to fall down onto the hard floor.

Ruthalia leaped on top of it before it could regain its balance, trying not to think of the fact that she was sitting on dead, rotten flesh, and jammed her blade's spiky side all the way down the Draugr's forehead, causing the blue, shimmering light in its dead eyes to fade out.

With a heavy sigh she rolled herself off the now lifeless thing and let herself lie on the floor, despite its coldness.

"This better be worth it," she mumbled before she got back on her feet again to examine the rest of this damned ruin.


	4. Chapter 4

" … sure, but I need to bring these supplies up to the Graybeards first," the man sighed. "All the way up, taking the seven thousands steps up to that damned mountain just to bring a bunch of old men their food and drinks."

"Maybe I can help you," Ruthalia joined in with a smile, interrupting the conversation she had overheard of the two men.

The one talking was of middle-age, but, his face showed that he had been through many hard times and plenty of rough weather. Wrinkles were spreading their way across his face; over his red warpaint and the scars he wore. The sight reassured Ruthalia's suspicious.

He must have been a warrior once, or at least a hunter.

He was wearing brown, light armor and a simple steel ax hung off his belt. His arms were strong and muscular. He had them crossed before his deep chest.

The other was a man of younger age and, from the looks of it he was the complete opposite of his friend; slender and with long arms hanging down like skinny tree branches. He had a short, crooked nose sitting in the middle of a boney face.

On quiet feet, and with a nod towards the bulky man he had been conversing with, he went off.

"And how is that?" the built man then asked Ruthalia.

"I need to see the Graybeards myself, so I might as well take the supplies you need to deliver with me," she said, smiling sweetly. The man slowly seemed to warm up a little and returned the smile with a little one himself.

"Sure thing. It's a long way and, even though I might not look out of shape, it is getting rather hard on my knees these days. Be sure to return to me after you've delivered the supplies, and I will be sure to reward you for your efforts."

Ruthalia nodded once and took the supplies the man gave her, putting it safely in her horse's carry bags. She felt good being able to help where she could. Her master had always taught her to show kindness and concern for others, and if nothing else, you always catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. And somewhere deep inside herself, perhaps, Ruthalia knew that she did it to warm the cold inside her soul.

It was evening already and the setting sun painted the sky a deep orange. It had cooled down and a cold breeze was brushing over Ruthalia's tanned skin. Her werewolf blood kept her warm. The transformation was a gift she had acquired in Whiterun through the Companions; a blessing Kodlak had tried to get rid of almost his whole life. It allowed her to ignore the wind's chill bite.

With a strong pull of her arms she was back on her mount and gently pressed her thighs against the mare's body to get it to walk.

The first bits of the way were easy. Their path went steadily upwards and Ruthalia's strong mount kept a steady pace.

Its strong back reminded Ruthalia of a werewolf. She watched its muscles ripple and contract, remembering her first contact with the Companions. It was just before she had entered Whiterun and had encountered a huge giant attacking a little hunters had slain it before she could even get there to help them. She was impressed and had asked where and how she could join their circle of obviously strong and agile warriors. The leading woman, Aela, had told her to go to Jorrvaskr and talk with Kodlak about it.

She had done so almost immediately. She was unfamiliar with this land, its people and the critters inhabiting it; so making friends or at least finding companions was her first privilege.

Everyone in the group had lots of doubts and suspicions towards her at first, but after several missions together - or hunts, as they called them - she had proven herself worthy of being included in their most precious and dangerous secret. Lycanthropy. It had turned out to be a useful gift, the Companions to be reliable allies and Jorrvaskr to be a warm and welcoming home. The oldest members had grown to like her as well and respected her many skills, not to mention her appreciation for their methods and beliefs.

As she rode along the windy road, she caught herself wishing they were here with her, even though she would never admit so, not even to herself.

The way became more difficult when the first stairs appeared and the horse slowed, trying to climb each step carefully in order not to slip and injure itself and its fellow.

It was obvious the steps were old and worn out from the harsh weather. The temperatures soon dropped further and the first snowflakes were soon dancing through the steadily darker growing sky. Little clouds appeared in front of Ruthalia's face each time she breathed out. Her mount made a sound to express its discomfort.

She stroked the horse reassuringly on the flank. "No worries, girl. Only a few thousand steps more."

Night had long caught up with them, when they were still struggling up the gigantic mountain. Ruthalia had already dismounted to support her feral companion with less weight on its back. She led the horse up, step by step, a tight grip on the bridle, her fingers beginning to freeze and cling to the leather.

The benefits of the werewolf blood had worn off, not able to keep out such extreme iciness. Ruthalia shivered, her lips turning blue, her teeth clacking against each other, as snowflakes clung to her armor, hair and eyebrows. Her throat was dry and every breath she took hurt in her nostrils and lungs. The steadily growing strength of the wind just added to their misery.

Ever since they'd reached the higher, colder area, they had not seen another living being. Further down the path they had stumbled across a few hunters here and there, praying at the many stones that were placed all the way up the seven thousand steps. Now they were all by themselves. A woman and her horse against the forces of nature.

Just as Ruthalia was beginning to think this would probably be the end of her and her steed, every breath more painful than the previous one, she saw hardly discernible light in the distance.

Feeling bits of hope arise in her heart, she lifted her head to look more closely. Indeed, there was light emanating from big, burning torches that lit only part of the huge building a few yards away from them.

It was massive, almost like a castle made out of huge, gray stones. A few more stairs were leading up to the main doors, each of them easily big enough for several men to go through all at once. The stairs were splitting for a colossal tower, standing like a silent guardian in the middle. In front of it, once Ruthalia and her steed had made the last few steps up to the building, she saw a magnificent, iron chest. Before it lay a few potions, snowberries and other herbs, some rings and coins.

Confident that this must be the place for supplies, she rummaged in her horse's carry bags, taking some time to find it and get it out. Her fingers were still stiff from the cold, but she found the items eventually and put the supplies in the large chest. She hesitated then, crouching in front of it.

Was it really worth it? Was it necessary? She could just turn around and forget about it all, right? Surely, there must have been a mistake in the first place. She could never be something as important as a Dragonborn. She was just a young woman, barely used to this new place she had been thrown into.

As if to prove her wrong, however, uninvited memories of the dragon fight in Whiterun flashed before her eyes.

"There it is! I can see it! It's coming!" the guard had shouted, standing on top of what was left of the watchtower.

Ruthalia had lifted her head, narrowing her eyes against the bright sun that was shining down from a barely clouded sky, before a huge, black shadow had covered it.

The guards around here were shouting, barking commands at each other. Before anybody was ready, however, it swooped down upon them, a wave of staggering air following its approach. The commands were forgotten, all tactics thrown aside and panic erupted like the fire from the dragon's mouth.

Several guards were running away, screaming in agony as they have been set on fire. Others were trying to shoot it with arrows, which only ended up shattered against its thick scales. Courageous – or foolish, Ruthalia could not decide which – soldiers were assaulting it with swords and axes, daggers and maces.

All but too slow. Before they could even get close to it, it had already soared into the cloudy sky, spitting fire onto them, destroying them along with their failed attack. Ruthalia had readied her bow and took aim.

She stood upon one of the massive watchtower outcroppings that the dragon had destroyed in one of its previous approaches. She could see the massacre beneath her. Some guards were waiting for it to land again, hovering behind piles of rubble. More and more however, tried to shoot it out of the sky with more arrows.

The commander, a dark elf that had led them out here on the order of the Jarl, was advising to set the arrows on fire.

Ruthalia thought it was a good idea but worthless against a creature like this. She took deep, slow breathes; her arm holding the bow steady and calm. She had one eye closed, the other following the movement of the swift cbeast; the tip of her arrow doing the same.

Just as it turned around and was getting ready to land once again, she recognized the moment she had been waiting for.

Quick, without thinking, she let go of the readied arrow. It shot across the battleground, swallowing the distance between Ruthalia and her aim in seconds. With perfect precision it dug its way into its target. The dragon's eye.

With a roar so convulsing it caused some of the tower's stones to loosen and fall to the ground, it lifted its massive head and spit a stream of pure, searing fire into the air.

It stomped wildly, its thick, heavy feet smashing dozens of guards underneath; its long, sleek tail, destroying more of the tower's ruins. The guards that were still alive and had been cowering behind some rubble, where now taking this chance and ran up to the beast with raised swords. The commander was back to barking commands, now that the monster had hit the ground and was wounded and distracted. Ruthalia too, did not hesitate and readied another arrow.

The dragon's vulnerable chest, which was the only part of it not covered with scales, was now exposed to her. Quickly she let go again, shooting the next arrow into the creature's flesh.

It howled anew, its rage increasing. It thrashed around more and more wildly, wiping guards aside as if they were toy soldiers, spitting more hungry flames onto the destroyed land.

But as it spotted Ruthalia on top of the ruins, its pupil narrowed, a spark of recognition flashing in its big eye. She was the last thing the king of the skies would see, however. Complete darkness surrounded the creature as Ruthalia's next arrow bit its way into the dragon's heart.

That too, was when Ruthalia's pupils narrowed in return as she devoured the creature's soul, taking it into her own. She saw flashes of its life passing before her eyes as if it had been her own. Memories of knowledge, the feeling of pride over being the most majestic and wild creature in all of Tamriel. She was it, and it was she. Dragon and human combined.

_Dovahkiin._

She looked up at the huge building before her and took a deep breath. She got up and took the steps up to the mighty iron door. Her heart felt heavy but the memory made her do the inevitable at last. Closing her eyes for a second or two, she opened the door and stepped in.


	5. Chapter 5

Once inside she was greeted by a group of monks. They were dressed in long, black coats with hoods over their faces, making them look mysterious and dark. The room she found herself in was huge like everything in this place. There was a big, empty space in the middle, were the monks stood in a circle, looking at an uncertain Ruthalia. More stairs were leading to another couple of iron doors, and to the left and right were corridors. Ruthalia suspected that they must lead to their quarters and kitchens.

She saw a hole in the ceiling right above the circle of monks and silver moonlight vaguely lit the large room; a few lonely torches contributing little to the darkness.

"Dragonborn, you have finally found your way to us." One of the monks now spoke to her, drawing her attention to him. "Step closer."

She did as he demanded.

Honoring their names, they all had gray beards. Their eyes were dark spots behind their hoods and, even though she could barely see them, she felt their looks all over her.

_I shouldn't have come, _she thought as she looked around nervously.

"How do you know I am Dragonborn?" she asked.

"Why else would you be here, child?" he answered the question with a question, a slight smile spreading over his wrinkled and worn face. Ruthalia returned the smile uncertainly.

"But before we can be sure however, you must pass a test. Follow us to our courtyard, there you will be able to demonstrate your skills and what you have learned so far." With no further explanation he and the other monks were climbing up the stairs. Still feeling strange and klutzy, she followed them through the doors.

They opened onto an expansive courtyard behind the building. The place was huge. A big field of snow and ice. Further down she could see steps, leading to some sort of altar it seemed, a fireplace in its middle. To the left she made out a giant, iron gate with no purpose whatsoever. It opened only to a few more yards of snow, before it all stopped at the edge of an icy cliff.

Freezing yet again, she stepped up to the monks who were all standing in a half circle, welcoming her in their middle.

"Now, present to us your Words of Power, the Thu'um," demanded one of the Monks, who later introduced himself as Arngeir, the leader of the Graybeards.

After presenting a short series of words, they taught her yet another which allowed her to sprint as fast as the wind and, in order to prove that she could, Ruthalia had to use it to get through the gate before they closed it.

Preparing herself mentally as the gate slowly opened, she stood ready and waiting for their sign to start. Her light brown eyes watched the Monk next to the gate closely. Just as he opened his mouth to use a Word of Power that would close the gate faster than closing it by hand, Ruthalia reacted and felt the familiar stirring inside her stomach.

It crawled all the way through her lungs and came out in a blow of striking power. Before she even realized it herself, she was out the gate, staring at the Monks a few yards behind. She blinked, confused, and shook her head. A proud smile snuck over her face.

"Well done, Dovakiin, now do it again," Arngeir said.

Once the Graybeards were satisfied with what they had seen, they all went back inside to finally give Ruthalia what she had come for in the first place. More information.

Arngeir told her what it meant to be Dragonborn, or, as he had called her earlier, Dovakiin. Dragonborns were humans born with a dragon's soul, which enabled them to use the Words of Power and unlock those by devouring other dragons' souls. Every human being was able to learn the words, but for Dragonborn it was naturally a lot easier. There were usually three words for each shout. Each word would make the shout more effective and stronger. There had been several Dragonborn before her. However, there was only ever one within a hundred years.

Arngeir marked a few places on her map of which he knew where to find more words. And, at a final trial, Arngeir told her to retrieve the horn or Jurgen Windcaller, which was supposedly hidden in the tomb Ustengrav.

Ruthalia sighed at the thought of yet another tomb.

They did not give her more explicit information, so Ruthalia thanked the Monk and got ready for her way down the giant mountain. But just before she was out the door, she remembered the Draugr.

"There's a question before I leave," she started.

"Go ahead, child," the old man encouraged.

"I have stumbled across creatures. I have read books about mythology here and there, and I believe the creatures I found are called 'Draugr'. They were protecting a tomb in which I found the shout I have demonstrated to you. When I was fighting a bigger one, he used a shout on me. How is that possible?"

"The Draugr are ancient Nords that once lived in Skyrim. Some of them once served the Dragons, that is why they have the knowledge of some of the Words. They are now bound to protect the many tombs scattered across Skyrim, trying to keep whoever dares to enter from reading them and achieve their power. They are foul creatures, unworthy of their existence, yet punished by exactly that. Be careful, although, they are not the strongest nor most dangerous things you will encounter on your journey. There is still bigger evil out there."

Ruthalia looked at Arngeir thoughtfully for a while. Something told her that he was wrong, that there was more to the Draugr than he knew, than anybody knew. But she remained quiet.

Nothing left to say or ask, she expressed her gratitude again before she finally left via main iron door. On the way down, Ruthalia decided she would stay in the same inn again for another day, and the next morning get her reward for delivering the supplies. The weather had fortunately improved some. It was still ice cold, however, and she encouraged her horse to move faster once she was seated on its back.

She wondered about the Dragonborn who had come before her … What kind of people had they been? Had some been as afraid of this power and responsibility as Ruthalia was? Or had they all embraced it like true heroes?

Ruthalia had never seen herself as a hero or a legend, and yet it was exactly that role that had been thrown at her. It was now up to her to catch it or to let it hit her. Or was there a way to cower? But had she not cowered enough in her life? Maybe this was the chance she needed to prove to herself that she was _more_ than just a simple hunter, more than just another abandoned wood elf in a world full of prejudice, crime and betrayal.

As she reached Ivarstead, exhaustion had finally caught up with her. The sight of the Vilemyr inn, with its warm lights flooding out of the windows, was the most beautiful sight she could have imagined at that moment.

It was deepest night by now. The village lay silent and sleepy and nobody was out except a few guards that were patrolling the area. She entered the inn and stopped in front of its keeper, more asleep than awake she asked to rent the same room again. With a friendly smile he shook his head. "You don't need to pay me this time. You have done us all a big favor. Use it for another day, elf."

With a tired smile she nodded and headed into the room. She dropped on the bed and fell asleep the minute her head touched the soft pillow.

"Excuse me. Ehm, are you Ruthalia? I am to deliver this message to a wood elf named Ruthalia. So, you are Ruthalia, yes? Then this is a message for you. Ehm, are you listening? Or are you not Ruth-"

"Yes, yes. I am listening, just give me the damned message!" she growled and sat up in the bed, blowing red strands of hair out of her face. The courier handed her a sealed letter and was out the door as fast as he had appeared. Still tired, Ruthalia rubbed her bleary eyes and took a deep breath, scratching her back while unfolding the letter.

"Dragonborn – I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you there. – A friend.  
P.S. I might be in possession of something that would be of use to you."

Ruthalia wrinkled her forehead and read it again.

And again.

And one more time.

_Now who could this be from? s_he tried to figure out desperately, tired of having to run from one place to another.

It was obvious that the person needed something from her, but what and why? What was there that she could give anybody? The person must have been watching her, how else would they know her name and that she was Dragonborn? Or had somebody been spying on her? Was she in trouble? She could not recall having been caught stealing supplies back in Riverwood. Was it a trap? And what was it this 'friend' had that she could have a use for?

She had only been in Skyrim for more than a few weeks. Thinking hard, she tried to remember places she had been to. So far she had only stumbled across a few ruins. The only big city she had seen so far was Whiterun, and then there were the villages; Riverwood and Helgen. Although Helgen, she thought grimly, was probably not a village anymore.

Riverwood, on the other hand, had only been a little village she had traveled through during her escape from Helgen. So, it must have been in Whiterun.

Rubbing her chin thoughtfully she went back to the day she had first set foot in the big city.

It had been a sunny and warm day. It was right after she had escaped from the attack in Helgen. Ralof, the Nord who had aided her throughout the attack on Helgen, persuaded her to go to Whiterun – to tell the Jarl of the dragon that was heading for his city.

Ralof had also introduced her to his sister. She was a proud, practical woman who equipped Ruthalia with a few supplies to make it to the city in one piece.

However, Ruthalia had not been able to resist that little pouch of gold, that Ralof's sister was obviously carrying in one of her dress's pockets.

"Only the strongest survive," her master had said.

_Or the trickiest, _Ruthalia thought as she gave the woman and her brother one last warm smile.

And then she was off, walking down a small, narrow road that wound itself down a steep hill. The way was leading through beautiful forests, followed by a relatively large river, that had been her companion ever since she had entered Riverwood. Its peaceful rushing, along with the songs of the many birds, soon lifted Ruthalia's mood and let her forget about the hassle and horror of Helgen.

Whistling a simple melody, she increased her pace.

In few short hours, she stopped before long, slender stairs built of perfectly white stone. The stairs wound up to a gigantic building, overlooking the whole city.

"That must be Dragonsreach," she mumbled, looking up to stare at the impressive construction. There was an ornate bridge at the top of the stairs, leading to the big double doors. Dragonsreach was surrounded by a moat which was filled with a dozen lively salmon.

As she entered through the big twin doors, she found herself in a huge room. Many long-tables were arranged in the middle, leading all the way up to the throne dais. Over the throne - which was a golden beauty, covered with the best and softest materials - hung the huge skull of a dragon. Its big maw hung wide open, razor sharp teeth sticking out. Torches lit the room and created a cozy, comfortable atmosphere. Conversations filled the room and Ruthalia thought that a kitchen must be near, according to the delicious fragrance in the air.

She stepped on a soft carpet that lead all the way up to the throne.

Ruthalia didn't get far, however. A bulky dark elf was heading towards her, a sharp sword ready in her hand. She wore regular leather armor. Her hair was black and short, the little that would have hung down to her shoulders, was tied together. Her face was harsh and expressed hostility.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors," she said, stopping only a few yards away from Ruthalia.

_What's wrong with all the people here? One is grumpier than the other, _Ruthalia thought with a lifted eyebrow. "I have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack," she answered flatly.

The dark elf lowered her sword a little and seemed to relax some. "Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."

With that she walked off, expecting their intruder to follow her. The burly woman stopped before the Jarl's dais, where he sat casually on his impressive throne. He wore fine clothes that spoke very obviously of his rank. The golden crown, unusually delicate, was sitting marvelously on his head. His facial features were rough and hard, exposing him as a true Nord. He was of middle-age and well built but Ruthalia could tell that he relied more often on his guards than on his own strength.

His steward was standing right next to him, wearing clothes almost as fine as the Jarl's.

"So. You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?" the Jarl said. His icy blue eyes had the effect that Ruthalia straightened her posture.

"Yes, and last I saw it was heading this way."

Heavy silence followed Ruthalia's words. The Jarl and the steward were sharing worried looks with each other, before the steward suddenly looked guilty.

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right," he mumbled. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?" the Jarl said to his steward, still nervously playing with his fingers. Ruthalia watched the whole scene quietly. She was uncertain what else to do. She had done what she had been asked and all she wanted now was to leave. However, as she looked around, she noticed a person in one of the room's corners, half way hidden behind a big pillar. She could barely make them out but could tell that the person wore a hood to cover up their face. The hands against the pillar were delicate and small, Ruthalia figured, therefore, that it was a woman.

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once." argued the dark elf, whose name - Ruthalia guessed - was Irileth. "It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains -"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him," the steward interrupted.

"Enough!" the Jarl's strong, demanding voice drowned out the argument and startled Ruthalia, who was still watching the hidden person. "I will not stand idle by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irilieth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl," the dark elf responded at once, and was on her way.

"If you'll excuse me, I will return to my duties," Proventus declared and headed for another room. As soon as he was out of reach for eavesdropping, the Jarl turned to Ruthalia. Feeling observed and examined under the Jarl's eyes, Ruthalia straightened at once.

"Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem," and with these words he lifted himself out of his throne and had a servant come to his side, to give him a steel armor set, which he then handed to Ruthalia. She took it and bowed lightly.

_Holy bluebell this is heavy! _

"There is another thing you could do for me," the Jarl added. "Suitable for someone with your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and … rumors of dragons." With a gesture of his hand, she followed after him.

Ruthalia withdrew from her memories.

She shook her head and scowled. It had not been then, no. There had been nobody during her first meeting with the Jarl that could have sent her the letter. It was someone who still tried to remain unknown and hidden.

_Someone who still tries to remain hidden …_

Her eyes widened, figuring it out. The woman she had seen in Dragonsreach, the one hiding behind the pillars, Ruthalia had also seen her after the dragon attack in Whiterun. At the same place, in fact!

What she still did not know, however, was why that person wanted to meet her, or if it was a trap. She had no idea whether this enigmatic figure needed her, or intended to harm her. The letter expressed urgency, but that, too, could be a trick.

Suspicion grew thick in Ruthalia's gut, but so did her curiosity.

She jumped out of bed and gathered up all her belongings. She expressed her gratitude to the innkeeper again, and left the building.

Ruthalia checked back with the man for whom she had delivered the supplies, to collect her reward.

It was another sunny and relatively warm day and no cloud was in sight. She saddled her dark brown mare and was off to meet the hooded stranger.


	6. Chapter 6

"Master, please! Don't do this! Let's just stay here, we don't need to open the door!"

"Ruthalia," he said her name softly, with a smile that spread over his face. Despite his age, Ruthalia still found his face handsome, its features daring, courageous – it spoke of everything about him. But the master had aged, indeed. They had been on the run for quite a while now. For longer than either of them would have liked.

The master had grown quieter ever since they had received a strange letter, many months ago now. Ruthalia held it in her hands, staring at the door, her legs wary from travel.

All the letter showed was the mark of a black hand, fingers spread, and a single message underneath – _We know._

"The Dark Brotherhood," she heard her master whisper when he had first looked at it, the same night they had left their little cottage up in the mountains.

Ruthalia didn't understand and the master avoided her every question. No matter how much she begged, he would not tell her what was going on. All he had said was that they needed to leave quickly.

As they were running from the enemy, the Dark Brotherhood, as her master had called them, Ruthalia had tried to figure it out for herself. Her master had always said she had a lot of wit.

"Are they here because you killed those men, Master?" she asked again. But the master did not answer this time, either. Instead, there was another heavy knock on the door.

They had blown out all the candles in the room and stood in almost complete darkness. All the light they had was the light of the full, bright moon on the cloudless night sky. It shone through the windows like a celestial beacon. A strong breeze rattled against the wooden house, whistling and whispering about untold secrets, conspiracies and betrayal.

"Did Eric say anything, Master?"

"I don't know, Ruth," the master sighed quietly.

"It was Eric, wasn't it? It's all his fault! He told somebody about it, didn't he? And now we're in trouble. I am not letting them get you, Master!" Ruthalia's voice became louder despite the master's hissed advice to remain silent. "Why won't you tell me?! After all we have been through! Am I still too young? I am almost fourteen summers old now, Master! I have proven my-"

Before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed Ruthalia around the waist and picked her up, one hand covering her mouth, smothering her words.

She heard a loudcrack, like splintering wood. _A lot of splintering wood …_

Ruthalia managed to peak over her master's shoulder as ran into the kitchen with her. She saw three people, dressed in pitch-black robes, had broken in the door and were now looking around. It didn't take them long, however, to find their prey.

Ruthalia thought she saw glowing red eyes behind the hoods, and though she didn't see it, she felt their insidious grin on her skin like cold fog.

The master turned left, heading into the basement with her, threw Ruthalia down the hidden trap door. He slammed it shut behind her, and she was alone. Ruthalia heard him lock the door, then draw his blade and charge back up the stairs.

Silence did not last long. She heard the sounds of metal hitting metal. She heard them talk but couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded like they were amused.

Ruthalia shivered.

Why had the master locked her down here? Was she not good enough to fight at his side? Had she done something wrong? Maybe she had been too childish. Maybe her outrage a few minutes earlier had enraged the master! She didn't want to make him mad! He meant everything to her! Oh, how she wished to escape and go to his aid.

She still had her dagger in her boot. Tugging it out, Ruthalia attempted to pick the lock on the trap door.

They had not been in the house for more than a couple of days, and all she knew was that her master had used this room for storage. Why had he thrown her in here ? She could have helped him, could have fought with him!

_Aha! _

Finally, she heard a barely audible _click _and the door inched open. Without hesitation she peaked out into the corridor. She didn't see anything or anyone, but she didn't dare call for her master either. He had told her to be quiet, after all.

Slowly, Ruthalia crawled out of the narrow, small room and looked around carefully, her dagger still held firmly in one hand.

Her heart pounded wildly, she thought it would break through her chest at any moment. Surely, the intruders must be hearing it. Any second now they would come down the stairs and get her. And then, the master would be really mad at her.

The silence was so heavy, Ruthalia wondered if the master had made it out safely, or had chased the intruders off, or fled … _something_. He _had _to be out there somewhere, waiting for her to meet up with him. He knew that he could count on his little hawk. Right?

Ruthalia tiptoed up the few stairs, flinching with every creak they made.

_Oh goddess, please don't let them hear me! s_he prayed.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she made it up the stairs and peaked around the corners.

Nobody was in the kitchen.

Nobody was in the hallway.

"There you are, little elf! And we were just wondering where you'd gone!" The man appeared out of nowhere. He covered her mouth with a meaty hand and whispered in her pointed ear. She felt his hot breath on her skin, the hairs on her neck stood up and a shiver went down her spine.

"Thought you could escape us, hm? Well, you've been a little overconfident about that, haven't you? But don't worry, you'll be save with us. I am sure you'll turn out to be quite the skilled killer. Just like your master, aha?" He chuckled at her and Ruthalia felt sick. Her every organ tightened up and she was close to vomiting.

She felt something hot and sticky running down her own chin. A metallic smell crawled up her nostrils like something evil and corrupted.

_Blood!_

_He has blood on his hands! _

"You like that smell? Good, I do too. We have whole tubes full of it in our little sanctuary. I am sure you will like it there. I am sure you – _ouch! _You little rat!"

She quickly wiped the blood off her lips and spat several times. The man who had captured her now held his hand close to his chest, nursing the teeth marks in his palm. Ruthalia could see that his face had turned into a grotesque masque of anger, despite the lack of light. But she didn't hesitate much longer. She headed for the exit but, just as she passed through the doorway, she crashed against another person. They both toppled and rolled across the ground for several feet before they came to a stop.

The hood of the stranger had fallen back and revealed the face of a young woman; dark blond hair was held together tightly with a piece of string, but it was the eyes Ruthalia would remember distinctly. Eyes so black and deep, the night itself would have been jealous. Those dark eyes stared back into Ruthalia's, expressing such anger and hatred that it made Ruthalia's skin crawl. With a gasp she leaped off the woman and continued her flight.

Despite the situation she couldn't help but take a deep breath of the fresh air. It felt wonderful after having been locked in the house for so long and she closed her eyes for just a second to enjoy the air filling her lungs as she stumbled over something soft and limp. Ruthalia landed on her knees and hands and turned around to see what it was. It had felt strange and …

"No!" she gasped, her eyes big and her mouth dropped open in disbelief. The first thick tears collected in her eyes and ran down her cheek, dripping onto the dry earth.

Her limbs began to shake, her body to shiver, and her heart to pound so heavy and hard against her chest that it hurt. But none of this mattered.

Not the intruders that were catching up with her, not the hooting owl in the distance, not the bugs flying through the humid, stuffy air, not the rustling of the leaves in the wind …

She turned around all the way and knelt before the corpse she had stumbled over. The corpse of the only person left in her life, the only person she had ever trusted and loved. The only person that she could ever call family.

"Haha, oh sweety! No worries, you'll get over it. Trust me, the killing makes it all better. He could have just surrendered, you know, he could have just -"

With a thump the assassin fell to the ground.

Ruthalia reached for another arrow to shoot the other person, the woman, but the second she looked away the woman vanished as quickly as she had appeared. As quickly as they had turned Ruthalia's whole world upside down.

She silently swore herself to get revenge, but for now she would let her go; too tired and too exhausted to even think about giving chase.

Slowly, almost attentive, she put the bow back down next to her master.

Her master's bow.

How many times had she begged him to let her shoot it? … Never had she imagined it would be like this, at such a time, in such a moment.

Ruthalia closed her hazel brown eyes tightly and let the tears flow quietly and the sadness shake her body. She wrapped her arms around herself and bent down, resting her forehead on her master's chest. There was no heartbeat. Not anymore.

She suddenly sat up with a loud gasp and almost fell off her horse.

She looked around anxiously, her hand shooting to the blade on her side, ready to defend herself any minute. But nothing came, no deadly strike nor blow.

She took a deep breath and realized that she had fallen asleep atop her horse as she had been on her way to Riverwood.

"I must have been more exhausted than I thought," she mumbled.

Her horse blew out its nose as if to say it knew that all along. Ruthalia smiled and petted her feral friend gently.

The sun was preparing to settle down for the day as Ruthalia noticed the little village in the distance. Only a few minutes later she stopped before the wooden inn and got off her horse. She hired one of the kids that was playing nearby to take care of it for the night. The boy gladly accepted with a big grin and lead the horse away, his friends following him excitedly.

Ruthalia smiled but hesitated. Bits of the dream were still floating through her head like an angry swarm of bees, and just as painful, but she shook her head to clear her uneasy mind and forced the remaining images away, and opened the tavern door.

The inside was like Vilemyr, yet it had something a little more special to Ruthalia. She liked Riverwood. She had liked it the moment she had first set foot in it. It was a very cozy little village, with a lot of nature surrounding and embracing it, and pleasant people living in it. She preferred it over all the other places she had been to in Skyrim, so far. It reminded her of her homeland.

She stepped in further, thinking about the many tree houses in Valenwood and nearly crashed into one of the servants.

The woman wore a plain, beige dress with a few patches of blue and green that had been sewed on very poorly, by the looks of it. She had long, dark blond hair that was tied together in a soft pony tail that went down to about her upper back.

Ruthalia couldn't quite tell, but she had a feeling that she had seen this person before.

_Just where … ?_

"We don't get many travelers here in Riverwood. How can I help you?" she greeted casually, stemming her arms - which Ruthalia noticed were very strong and buff for a woman's - against her waist.

"I want to … rent the attic room;" Ruthalia replied.

That was all it took for her opponent to understand who she was dealing with. A little sparkle appeared in the corner of her eye and her smile became slightly mischievous.

"Attic room, eh? Well … we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home."

Ruthalia did not catch what she was saying right away and wrinkled her forehead. The woman made a gesture to the left, leading to the mentioned room. With a nod and an uncertain smile Ruthalia dismissed herself and headed towards it.

She looked over her shoulder, despite her usual behavior of secrecy and caution. It took only a few moments before the woman joined her.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you are looking for this."

Surprise spread over Ruthalia's face as she handed her a horn, long and thick and spiral; ancient signs and patterns carved into it. She ran her fingers over it admiringly, but was jolted out of her admiration and surprise as the woman snapped her fingers.

"We need to talk. Follow me." With those words she took off, heading to the opposite direction of Ruthalia's room.

_Obviously a woman you don't wanna mess with, _Ruthalia thought with a scowl, shrugged and put the horn safely away.

The room they entered was a little bigger and fancier than the other ones. It had a luxurious double bed and green blankets were spread over it neatly. A long, wooden table stood next to it and plates with sweet rolls, bowls with apples and carrots sat on top of it. A smaller table was to Ruthalia's right, along with a chair at its side, papers and books spread all over.

"Close the door," the woman demanded, and Ruthalia obeyed but gave the woman another scowl.

The stranger opened the doors of a tall, old wardrobe which happened to be empty. At first, Ruthalia thought this was all a big joke as the woman now knocked against the wooden back but, as it turned out to be a secret entrance, she lifted her brows in surprise and remained quiet.

She followed the woman down the stairs that lead into a hidden room. It was about the same size as the previous one, but stacked with weapon racks, shelves, some hay bays, a dummy holding a shield in one corner, a few chests and in the middle was a wooden table. Sprawling across the entire surface was a big map, which Ruthalia failed to read. She stepped up right next to the woman and looked down on it uncertainly.

"The Graybeards seem to think you are the Dragonborn. I hope they're right," she started the conversation after a moment of silence, pulling Ruthalia's attention back to her.

"I don't like it myself, if that's what you mean," said Ruthalia. "I never asked for all this but I am afraid the Graybeards are right, I am Dragonborn."

"I hope so. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Graybeards say so. I just handed you the horn of Jurgen Windaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?" she answered, rather flippant. Ruthalia narrowed her eyes and watched the woman more closely. She didn't like her.

"What do you want with me?" she asked.

"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I am not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."

Ruthalia hesitated for a second. The deeper she involved herself in whatever this was, the less likely it seemed she'd be able to back out. She nodded anyways. "Go on. I am listening."

"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you … Well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"How do I know I can trust _you_?" Ruthalia shot back.

"If you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place."

"Why did you take the horn from Ustengrav, then?"

"I knew the Graybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Graybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."

Ruthalia had never heard of a group called Thalmor before and she wasn't really sure if she was interested anyway. This woman had some issues. She had just sent her a letter, expecting her to go and meet her like a good puppy and then agree to whatever she said and prove to her who she really was; to prove that she was a legend that all these people in this goddamned place seemed to need so badly. But had anyone even asked her?

Ruthalia noticed that she had dug her nails into the wood of the table, so slowly relaxed and let go. She let out a deep sigh and decided to go along some more. "You said the Thalmor are after you? Who are they? You need me to kill them? I am sorry but I don't do killing. If you need me to steal something, fine but -"

"Yes," the woman interrupted. "We're very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn't important right now," she finished, totally ignoring most of Ruthalia's questions, but before she could ask any more, she continued, "What is important is that you might be Dragonborn."

_This whole Dragonborn fuss again! _Ruthalia thought angrily, trying very hard not to let it show.

Wasn't she already helping the Graybeads? Had they not warned her of something more evil than the Draugr? Maybe this was what they were talking about. Maybe this woman, that had randomly demanded her to come and meet with her, had something planned. Something to overthrow the old monks, perhaps? She definitely seemed rude and angry enough.

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?" Ruthalia asked, hoping to squeeze more information out of her that way, since the woman was obviously not going to answer much.

"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. You are the only one who can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul …

"Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?" the woman pried, her tone hopeful and almost desperate. For the first time, Ruthalia saw actual emotions on the stranger's face, besides the cold mask she had shown her ever since they had been talking.

Ruthalia hesitated again. She had the feeling that she needed to be careful around this woman, she did not know why, however.

Maybe it was her enthusiasm and obvious hatred towards the Graybeards, and what she had called the 'Thalmor'. She didn't sound like she had any interest in Ruthalia at all as a person. It was clear that she saw her as a weapon to end whatever she was afraid of. And something told Ruthalia that it was not just the dragons the woman feared.

"Yes, that's how I first learned I was Dragonborn," Ruthalia finally answered.

"Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough." With those words the woman turned around to gather some things from the shelf behind her.

Ruthalia felt awkward and oddly left out. Had she no say in this?

"So what's the part you're not telling me?" she asked.

"Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it."

The woman's behavior was driving Ruthalia more mad by the second. She acted like a trained soldier – maybe that's what she was? - and seemed to expect nothing but immediate approval and cooperation from everyone around her. Or perhaps she was just treating Ruthalia that way?

What did she know about this woman? Nothing. _Other than__ she seems like a nutcase, _Ruthalia thought, watching the woman grimly pack supplies.

"What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?"

"I know they are," she answered without stopping in what she was doing. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. And we're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"No, you will tell me what I want to know right now, or I don't know what's stopping me from just walking out of here," Ruthalia growled. She stepped around the table and grabbed the woman's hand, stopping her from gathering her gear.

"That would be unwise," she simply said. Ruthalia felt something cold and sharp against the back of her neck and gasped silently. She tried to look back as far as she could without letting the woman out of sight, and noticed that she pressed a dagger against Ruthalia's skin, pressing harder by the second.

She glared at the woman, wondering how she could have reacted that fast, and loosened her grip on her.

"You expect me to simply come and meet with you, then do what you tell me to and not ask any questions?" In fact, that itself wasn't a question, it was a statement since the woman's behavior was pretty obvious.

"You have no choice in this. If you want help and want to find out more, you do as I say and you will get it when I consider the time right for it." She regarded Ruthalia with a totally calm expression, not dropping a sweat.

"What makes you think the Graybeards wouldn't be support enough for me? They were the ones who called me first and honestly, who seem to be the older and more experienced ones in that matter."

"They are good at making others think a lot of things that aren't true. But it is up to you, you are right. You can choose to either come with me and rely on my promise that I will tell you more, once I am assured that you really are Dragonborn, or you walk away and … well, what Elf? What are you gonna do without efficient help?"

Ruthalia had let go of her by now and she was already turning away, packing supplies again.

Ruthalia watched her quietly for a moment or two, thinking about the question she had asked. What would she really do? Whom did she know in this country? Whom could she trust or turn to? And really, what choice did she have?

The Graybeards seemed convinced that she was The One, and had she herself not seen what she was capable of? Had she not swallowed a dragon's soul whole? Had she not felt the stirrings in her stomach? The power in her lungs?

She closed her eyes and, for a moment, she wished she wasn't here. If only she had been more careful that day the soldiers had attacked a group of hunters she knew. But she couldn't fool herself, never would she be able to just let innocent people get slaughtered. Not after …

"So, where are we headed?" she finally asked, and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the bitter taste that had gathered on her tongue.

"Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it," the woman answered, casual and cool as always. _She doesn't even wonder what made me change my mind, _Ruthalia thought, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Let's get on the road to Kynesgrave," were her last words when she was finally done packing and, a second later, she was already heading back up the stairs.

Ruthalia watched after her for a while, her mind racing with a thousand questions, doubts and considerations, but she did not say another word. She sighed deeply and followed the strange woman up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

The way to Kynesgrave was a long one. The weather remained peaceful and warm for the first couple of days but, once they got close to Windhelm, it changed abruptly.

Cold, wild wind blew in their faces. They were covered only by cheap hoods, bought in one of the smaller villages along the way. The snow came down in a fast dance, swirling all around them, holding onto them like mischievous little fairies, biting them through their armor and skin.

Windhelm was the oldest city of them all, built out of massive stones. Its mighty presence towered over the snowy, surrounding lands, like a dark and frightening omen. A warning to all their enemies, the Stormcloaks' pride.

A shiver went down Ruthalia's spine when they rode past it.

"It's not far anymore. Maybe another couple of hours and we are there. Be prepared."

"Yeah, yeah," Ruthalia mumbled, rolling her eyes. Not even the constantly growing snowstorm seemed to disrupt her companion's behavior. If anything, the snow and cold only made her eagerness worse. Ruthalia wondered if she had been a soldier once.

They had not talked a lot throughout their journey, partly. Because Ruthalia avoided her whenever she had the chance to. She had found out that her companion's name was Delphine and she had lived in Skyrim for quite a while. Together with Orgnar she ran the Sleeping Giant's Inn, until she found out about the Dragonborn being around.

However, she did not answer any questions concerning the Thalmor or how she had found out about Ruthalia being the Dragonborn. In return, Ruthalia told her very little about herself; how she had ended up in this harsh and beautiful land; how she had learned about the Graybeards; the whole legend surrounding the dragons and her fate to destroy them. Ruthalia had described her first fight against the dragon in Whiterun and that that was how she first discovered her ability to devour their souls.

And so, as Delphine kept her secrets, Ruthalia did too. She did not tell her anything personal about her past, and the woman did not seem especially interested in it. With each passing day, Ruthalia solemnly felt that Delphine saw her as a weapon and nothing more.

In some ways she almost felt bad for the strict woman. Ruthalia failed to imagine her having a lot, if any, friends. But who was she to judge? Perhaps she was very loved wherever she came from; maybe she had a family, husband and children.

"You're falling behind. Hurry up."

_No, I guess not ..._

It was late evening when they finally reached Kynesgrave, which turned out to be a quaint village. It consisted of an inn, a mine and a couple of farms and fields. It seemed like the owners did not realize they were surrounded by open, uninhabited terrain. Ruthalia asked Delphine why they didn't use the nearby grove for more farming land, and she simply replied that it was sacred to Kyne, an ancient goddess, and the people would not dare provoke her. Ruthalia thought she had heard the name before.

_Kyne …_

_May she find eternal rest in the forest of dreams._ One of the shouts.

It was the shout she had acquired in the tomb.

"Get ready now, we are almost there. Hurry." Dlephine pulled her out of her thoughts as she leaped off her horse still in mid-trot, sweat glittering on its flank.

Ruthalia followed her up a steep hill.

It was extremely dark for that time a day. Thick, heavy clouds were covering the sky and strikes of lightning wound themselves through the gray blanket, flashing white and purple. Thunder followed somewhere in the distance. Ruthalia narrowed her eyes against the increasing number of snowflakes swirling slowly to the ground, almost ponderous. The keen wind bent the giant pine trees in all directions, making them seem like silent giants, swaying to some unheard music.

Ruthalia thought she could almost hear them moan in dismay and pain.

Her gut tightened.

"Stay under cover. This is what we came for. We need to see what happens," Delphine commanded. She was out of breath but more determined than ever. Ruthalia could barely keep up with her.

Without warning, a voice reverberated across the land, as if out of the thick clouds above them. It was heavy and strong and filled with such bass it caused the ground underneath their feet to rumble.

"Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!"

Ruthalia turned her head towards the top of the hill where a small, barely visible dirt path wound its way to the top.

What she saw up there froze the blood in her veins. Her eyes widened in disbelief and recognition, her muscles braced painfully.

"Lorkhan's eyes! Look at that big bastard!" Delphine shouted over the rumbling thunder and beating of wings. "Keep your head down, let's see what it does!"

Ruthalia had recognized the creature at once, despite the bad weather and the dim light.

The dragon from Helgen.

She remembered all too clearly; the heat of its flames, the smoke of the burning houses, the stinging smell of burning flesh, the screams and the shouts, drowned out by its all consuming roar.

Black and tremendous. Its body hovered several feet over the ground, looking down at something Ruthalia could not make out.

Finally, they reached the top of the hill, cowering down all too late. It had already seen them, its giant head turning their way. Ruthalia thought she saw a big grin on its grotesque head. But before she could determine whether this was just a doing of her imagination, it turned its attention back to what it had been looking at before: a big round surface rising lightly from the ground. It was covered with thick, dark earth, and surrounded by a circle of stones.

Ruthalia and Delphine moved up to a large rock, cowering behind it to watch the disturbing scene before them.

"Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!

"Slen tiid vo!"

Its voice rumbled again, causing the earth underneath it to shiver and shake. Delphine and Ruthalia looked at each other for a second. Both their faces mirrored their fear.

"This is worse than I thought..." Delphine mumbled.

Then, with a loud crack, the round surface broke open, reveling a creature almost more beastly to look at than the black dragon hovering over it.

All flesh had been ripped from it. Where once were eyes was now nothing but empty, dark holes staring right at them. Its skinny carcass of wings were breaking through the ground supporting the creature as it heaved itself out of the pit.

Massive feet clawed at the edge of its grave.

"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" it spoke in a tongue unknown and yet oddly familiar to Ruthalia. She did not understand their meaning, but guessed it was asking something of the black dragon.

"Geh, Sahloknir, koali mir. Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koroav nid nol dov do hi," he answered with his thunderous voice.

It made an even deeper sound as it slowly turned its pitch black head towards Ruthalia.

It was chuckling, chuckling over Ruthalia.

"You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take the name of Dovah," it said, another leer spreading over its scaled face. Ruthalia felt small and all too exposed, the rock not of any shelter at all.

"Sahloknir, krii doar joorre," the black beast finished, throwing itself higher up into the sky and taking off with only a few beats of its strong wings.

"By Lorkhan..." Ruthalia heard Delphine mumble, but her attention belonged to the remaining beast.

It had regained all its flesh. Strong, thick muscles wrapped themselves around the bones which had been exposed before, dark green scales armoring them. Big, leathery wings spread out from its side and, with two swooping beats, it soared into the sky.

It filled the air with a loud roar, followed by lightning as if to underline its power.

Ruthalia grasped her bow, readied an arrow and aimed at the giant beast. With steady arms and one brown eye closed, she followed the creature's path in the sky. She closed everything out; Delphine, the weather, the deep bass of the dragon's beating wings, the roaring thunder and the blinding lightning. She was deeply concentrated, waiting for just the right moment to let go of the pressure that slowly caused her arms to shiver.

The dragon turned with the wind, increasing its pace.

It opened its massive mouth, exposing long, sharp fangs. It blasted out a roar, followed by a blazing stream of fire.

At that exact time, Ruthalia let go of the arrow.

Hungry and impatient with waiting did it seek its target, going straight forward with deadly dedication. With immense speed the arrow dug itself into the creature's body, going through scale and flesh. She had hit it right between the eyes.

It roared in pain, as did Ruthalia as she got bit by the fire's heat. She barely managed to jump out of the way.

Delphine, meanwhile, had not been lazy. She had been watching the dragon and charged towards it as soon as it hit the ground. It dug its' talons into the frozen earth and one of its wings hung down by its side, useless and broken.

"Ahhh!" Delphine roared, and let her sword come down on the giant creature. It barely cut through the dragon's scales. It turned its head, annoyed, and before Delphine could even begin to react, she found herself embraced within the dragon's flames.

Ruthalia watched as she closed her eyes in panic. Holding her breath, Ruthalia charged at Delphine and tackled her to the ground – out of harm's way.

Panting, they looked at each other. It was the first time Ruthalia saw something other than cold determination in Delphine's eyes. Gratefulness.

They both got up again and readied themselves for yet another attack.

So did the dragon.

"You waste my time!" it bellowed, furious that not even _one_ of its attacks had yet been successful, and it prepared to soar back into the air to crush them. But, in its anger, it had forgotten about its broken wing. Ruthalia took that moment of confusion and swung herself on its back. Her sword supported the climb, digging its way just barely through the scales.

The dragon began to surge to-and-fro. It was outraged and astonished at her behavior. It started to speak in dragon again but Ruthalia did still didn't understand, and did not care to at this moment. She made her way up to the massive head, trying hard not to fall off; the dragon's long neck underneath her wound like a huge, crazed snake. It snapped and thrashed its tail, giving Delphine no chance to join her.

Thick, wet snowflakes splashed against the three fighting beings on the hillside just above the little village that lay unaware and silent, or so it pretended to be.

Ruthalia finally reached its head, her legs clinging tightly to the beast which would not give up its struggle. She took a firm grip of her sword's hilt with both hands and lifted it over her head. She put all the strength she had left into this one final strike.

She let the sword come down.

The impact of it clashing through scales and flesh felt like her arms were being broke apart, but it went all the way through to the dragon's brain. With that instant it was dead and all the thrashing and winding stopped abruptly. Its head dropped to the ground, its body went limb, the leathery wings collapsed aside and its eyes lost their ferocity.

Ruthalia stumbled to the ground, her every limp feeling soft like rabbit stew. If she hadn't been so beat, Ruthalia might have been surprised to find Delphine come to her aid to support her.

The two women looked at the dead creature before them. They heard a sizzling sound as if somebody set a fire somewhere. It grew louder and louder, and there were indeed flames. They emanated from the dragon's corpse, embracing it like a thousand arms. The flames grew bigger and brighter and ravenously ate their way through the dragon's flesh until nothing but its bare bones were left. Just as it had first been, when it had risen from its grave. How it should have remained.

Swirls of magic, like dancing creatures, wrapped around the skeleton, then flew into the sky, embracing some of the closest standing trees and, finally, as if it was searching for her, the magic wrapped itself around Ruthalia as well.

The storm around them had stopped almost as suddenly as their fight, and it was almost completely silent except for the hushing noise the magic created.

A heavy throbbing went through both Ruthalia and Delphine, causing the ground to vibrate as it did when the black dragon had spoken, but this time it was gentle and soft, almost loving.

And then Delphine knew. Ruthalia could see it in her face.

She had just witnessed one of one of the most abstract, strange and probably one of the most intimidating moments in all of Tamriel. She witnessed a Dragonborn taking in a dragon's soul. Learning from it, growing from it. Taking its wisdom and strength as their own.

As slowly and softly as it had started, it ended.

Subsiding.

It left Ruthalia breathless for another moment or two, before she turned her head towards the still speechless Delphine.

"I … it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn," she finally said, and after another short silence, "I owe you some answers, don't I?" She looked down, almost apologetic and rubbed her neck. "Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

Ruthalia's eyebrows lifted a little in surprise, her biggest concern to remain standing and not fall down. Now that the fight was over, and both her body and mind were able to process the physical obstacles of the past few days, all she really wanted was to just lie down and rest.

But there were questions indeed.

Throughout their whole journey she had wondered about all kinds of things to ask and, now that she had the chance, she almost found herself speechless.

But she also remembered how the woman had treated her throughout their days spent together. The harsh and demanding demeanor she had revealed.

She didn't know when another opportunity like this would come up again, and also, the woman could use a little bit of her own medicine, so Ruthalia started bluntly.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?"

"I am one of the last members of the Blades. A very long time ago, the Blades were dragon slayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragon slayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them," Delphine answered, immediate and serious as Ruthalia knew her to be.

Ruthalia was generally against slaying any kind of creature, no matter how dangerous. Dragons were living beings like anything else and had a right to live. It was strange that the black one had spoken to her, that it had summoned another of its kind, but what if they had not interfered? What if they had never shown up and disturbed whatever had taken place? Would it still have looked for her to kill her? Only because she was Dragonborn? Did being Dragonborn necessarily mean to make dragons go extinct again? Ruthalia did not recall the Graybeards having said so.

But then she had a glimpse memory of the Draugr.

What fate was it to end up like them, undead servants to the Dragons? Maybe they _were _nothing but savage beasts.

"What do you know about the dragons coming back?" she continued to ask.

"Not a damn thing," Delphine confessed. "I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon here." Ruthalia could tell that lack of knowledge about a matter so dear to this woman could drive her mad.

_She seems mad in general..._

"I've seen that dragon before, the one that got away," Ruthalia began hesitantly. "It was the one that attacked Helgen, when Ulfric escaped from the Imperials."

"Interesting… Same dragon… Damn it, we're blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who's behind it all!" Delphine exclaimed, startling Ruthalia who had drifted off in her memory of Helgen.

"So what's our next move then?" she asked, trying to remain alert.

"The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind the dragons. The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."

_Does this woman ever show any signs of weakness?!_

"Who are these 'Thalmors'?" Delphine wrinkled her forehead, not missing Ruthalia's mockingly suspicious tone at the name 'Thalmor'.

"The faction that rules the Aldmeri Dominion. The ones that almost destroyed the Empire during the Great War, thirty years back," she began heading back down the hill. Ruthalia followed. "There's no worse enemy to humankind in Tamriel. The Empire barely survived the last war. The Thalmor don't intend to lose the next one."

"So, what makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?" Ruthalia asked, trying to make some sense of this.

"Nothing solid. Yet. But my gut tell me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now, dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from this but the Thalmor?"

"And why are they after you, then?" Ruthalia asked, remembering Delphine's previous fear upon their first meeting – how she suspected Ruthalia might be a Thalmor plant.

"Before the Great Wars, the Blades helped the Empire against the Thalmor. Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel. At the time, that was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows, all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them.

"We were wrong."

Ruthalia had no great interest in political issues. She never had and probably never would. She had never understood the human kind and their desire to rule over one another. She wished she could have stayed out of this all together. A sharp bite of regret dug its teeth into her heart and mind over having come here in the first place. She should have gone back to her homelands once she had escaped her execution. Back to Valenwood. Back to her…

"So, we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons. Any ideas?" Ruthalia asked, quickly trying to get her thoughts back on the matter at hand, away from memories...

"If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy… It's the center of their operations in Skyrim… Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia..."

Ruthalia lifted her eyebrows in disbelief but gave Delphine a grin. Ruthalia thought she might even have returned it, but it was too little and short to be sure.

"So, _is _it possible to get into the Embassy?" Ruthalia had no real interest in working any further with Delphine, but she wasn't about to tell her that, yet.

"I'm not sure yet. I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together. Meet me back in Riverwood. If I am not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long."

They reached the little village again and stopped by their horses. A few torches lit the place and a couple of guards had started making their way up the hill, probably alarmed by all the noise from their fight. Ruthalia couldn't make out what they were saying however.

"Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse."

Ruthalia turned her attention back to Delphine and found her seated on her mount's back already. With those words, Delphine dismissed herself and spurred her horse into motion, gone without so much as a backwards glance.

Ruthalia stood there for a little longer, watching Dlephine ride off until she couldn't see her anymore.

It had stopped snowing.

"I might just reward myself with a sweet roll or two," Ruthalia mumbled to herself and disappeared inside the inn.


	8. Chapter 8

The moon was standing high, throwing its glowing, silver rays down upon the world underneath. Thousands and thousands of stars decorated the black night sky, blinking in and out, like playful little fairies.

Stripes of green, blue and yellow aurora were brushed over it all as if an unknown, silent artist had snuck out just before nightfall and painted the sky.

Ruthalia sat upon a big rock, her legs crossed, her hands resting on her knees. It was bitterly cold. She could see her breath in tiny, little clouds before her, but she didn't feel the temperature's bite. The moon warmed her, its silver light embraced her, welcomed her. Its appearance called to her, to something deep within her body and soul. Something so ancient, she was sure not even her master would have understood.

She slowly got up, the whole time her eyes never failed to stare at the big silver circle on the sky.

At first it was just like an adrenaline rush, as if she was being chased and tried to get away, then her muscles began to tighten. She felt as if she was falling.

Ruthalia almost dropped to her knees, her face turned into a grotesque mask of pain and agony. Her every vein hurt as if it had been set on fire. Fur started to grow out of her arms, legs, back... Her ears, pointed and long by nature, grew even longer and reshaped to something even more useful and naturally skilled. Her mouth hurt the most. It started to stretch out, grow longer along with her nose.

She opened her eyes suddenly.

Instead of the soft, light brown, they shone in an eery yellow, her pupils long, slender slits.

Ruthalia looked down at her hands, now big and dark, thick, black fur growing on top of them. She spread her fingers, still long and slender but equipped with sharp claws, the light of the moon lightly reflected off their black surface.

She took a deep breath and closed her beastly eyes, sucking in the cold, fresh night air, now filled with so many more fragrances. There was a deer nearby and a rabbit just underneath the small hill she stood on. But there was something else, too...

Ruthalia sharpened her feral ears, they twitched slightly as they picked up a strange sound. Crackling of fire. She heard the crackling of fire, eating away on wood. And then, she smelled it, too.

Whoever had set it, obviously knew what they were doing, because it didn't give off much smoke, just enough for Ruthalia to notice it.

Her hunger was strong and she had just wanted to roam the forests, but her curiosity once again got the best of her, and so she took off towards the direction of the fire.

It took longer than she had imagined, until she finally saw it in the distance. It was a campfire, set up in a small glade against the side of a mountain.

_Smart, _Ruthalia thought. _That way she cannot be attacked by all sides. _

Ruthalia wondered what a single person was doing out here in the middle of nowhere, but then again, what was _she herself _doing out here?

It was obvious that the person was a woman, according to the scent.

_Sweet and bitter._

She could not, however, determine what race she was. The person was hooded, wrapped into a thick cloak against the cold. Ruthalia sniffed quietly and felt her stomach growl as she sucked in the smell of roasted pheasant. Her favorite meat!

She shook her wolfish head. This was ridiculous. She was not supposed to beg for food, like a dog. She was supposed to hunt like the mighty beast she was. Had this not been her reason for transforming in the first place? Her hunger for a good, decent hunt? Had she not wanted to sink her teeth into the thick pelt of a moose?

But there was something else that had drawn her to this person and place. The scent of the woman had something very appealing, very attracting. Almost like an aphrodisiac.

_Ruth! You should really turn around now! s_he rebuked herself and got ready to leave. Just as she had turned around however, she found herself eye to eye with someone.

The hooded woman.

The tip of an arrow pointed at Ruthalia's forehead. The woman's expression was grim and determined, yet somewhat fascinated. Ruthalia could not help but notice the endearing purple of her eyes and the soft sparkle in it, a sparkle of interest. She did not see Ruthalia as a monster, but what then?

"What are you doing here, beast? Do you understand me?"

Ruthalia tilted her big head and twitched with an ear. For a split second she noticed a twitch around the corner of the woman's mouth. Was she amused over that? Did she look funny? Most people would have either ran away screaming or tried to kill her. This woman however, did not seem the least bit frightened.

She pulled the string of the bow back a little further.

Okay, well maybe a little bit.

"Can you turn back? Can you reveal your true self?"

Ruthalia hesitated.

She should run away, leave this woman she didn't even know behind, and go her own way again. Meet up with Delphine, as she had told herself she would, after she had made her mind up about it. But had she? She still didn't know if she trusted Delphine.

No, this was not true. She _did _know that she _didn't_ trust Delphine. But did this mean she could simply bail out and ignore this whole Dragonborn business? She should probably go back to the Graybeards, deliver the Horn and see what they wanted her to do next.

"I won't hurt you, I promise. But I won't let you hurt me either," the woman's soft voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Ruthalia shook her head the slightest and sighed, blowing a little cloud of fog out of her nostrils.

Truth is, no she couldn't simply turn back into her human self. It just happened. There was no braking the lycanthropy while it was in process. There was no escaping the nature of the beast just like that, but she didn't want the woman to shoot her, or go away. What to do? Ruthalia tried to explain as best as she could to wait here, but it turned out to be a lot harder than she had thought. The woman cocked her head, but lowered her bow for a second, trying to figure out what this strange being in front of her tried to tell her.

"I don't understand."

Ruthalia sighed exasperated and put her big, clawed hands on her head, pulling a few black hairs. She looked around and then decided to take off to her right, away from the mountain, the woman and the fire. There was no explaining to her that she had to wait, best just head out while the woman was not paying more attention.

She ran through the thick forest, across the snowy ground, barely leaving a trail, her feet, strong and muscular, carrying her effortlessly. And then she saw it.

A big, strong buck, not twenty feet away from her trotting through the sleeping forest, unaware of the danger coming its way.

Ruthalia didn't slow down. She was in a frenzy now, the woman all but forgotten for the moment. All that remained was her growling stomach and the thick, hot blood pumping through her enlarged veins, filling her body with adrenaline. Her breath came in beastly, raged gasps. A hunting wolf.

The buck turned its head, its sleek ears twitched at the closer coming sound, its nostrils flared in fear and anxiety. It could barely turn around to start its flight before Ruthalia had wrapped her long arms around the animal's body, digging her teeth, long as daggers, into the creature's neck, tasting the blood that flew into her mouth dripping of saliva and hunger.

Sweet, sweet nectar.

She bit again, cutting through the buck's lungs and breaking its neck at once. It was dead in less than a heartbeat and a delicious feast indeed.

"You can come closer. I was actually wondering whether you would come back or not."

Ruthalia did as she was told, still uncertain if it was a good idea. She had thought about it for at least an hour, but in the end she had simply let her feet take over and walk her back to the campfire.

"I had to go back to collect my belongings," Ruthalia explained while coming closer. "After all, even if I would have been able to transform back in front of you, how would it have looked to show up almost naked?"

"I don't know. I have bumped into people dressed in little more than their underclothes, but not a werewolf yet," the woman answered, grinning.

Ruthalia sat down on the tree stump next to her. She smiled shyly.

"You can call me Karliah," the woman introduced herself, smiling slightly and offering a hand. She must have obviously spent quite some time in Skyrim, or at least around humans, to have adopted their way of greeting each other.

Ruthalia shook Karliah's hand.

"Ruthalia, nice to meet you."

"You look a lot better underneath all that fur and muscle," Karliah teased and Ruthalia couldn't help but smile a little.

The woman, who she could see now as being a Dark Elf, had just the slightest accent which Ruthalia couldn't place. She hadn't met many Dark Elves especially. They have always been distant, mysterious people, accused of all kinds of treachery and treason. But then, so were the Wood Elves. Anything different and unfamiliar to humankind, in fact.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I was just curious of the smell and wondered who would be out here in the middle of nowhere besides me," Ruthalia explained, looking into the fire.

"Were you planning to eat me?" Karliah asked bluntly, hiding the grin behind her hood.

"Oh, ehm … no. Of course not!" Ruthalia answered lamely.

_What's wrong with you? Don't act like such a kid! She's just a person. Quite a snotty one at that! s_he told herself, frowning. Karliah chuckled.

"You want some pheasant?"

"Oh, sure! If you have enough, that is. Thank you."

Karliah took a piece out of the fire with a stick and handed it to Ruthalia. She took it with a grateful smile, blew on it and dunked it in the snow to cool it off, then took a bite.

Karliah sipped on a bottle of wine.

"That's quite tasty," Ruthalia complimented after a while of peaceful silence.

"Thank you, I wrapped it in some herbs and spices first. It's little effort and does a lot for the flavor," Karliah explained casually, offering Ruthalia a drink of the wine. "So, what are _you _doing out here all by yourself? Aren't there other werewolves? The Companions seem to be quite connected to them, if you believe what they say."

Ruthalia hesitated.

_How does she know that?_

She didn't want to expose her friends, especially since Kodlak had told her to be careful whom to trust with this. But this woman, mysterious as she might seem, has not yet attempted to harm her, not even when she had shown up as a werewolf, so she figured she could give her an answer.

"I prefer the serenity of solitude but the Companions are my friends, yes. I have simply been roaming the area and have felt the need to hunt, so here I am." she finished, taking a sip of the offered wine.

Karliah nodded then sighed and leaned back against the tree behind her.

"I quite like solitude myself, although it has been my follower for way too long now. It's nice to talk to someone without being judged or shot right away."

Ruthalia wrinkled her forehead. "Why is that? Are you being hunted?"

"You mean besides by lone werewolves?" she joked, grinning at Ruthalia who blushed a little. "It's a long story, but I guess I can tell you, if you wanna get yourself involved in it, that is."

"Sure, you can tell me. After all, I revealed myself to you, too, didn't I?"

"Just fair to give you a secret in return, hm? Alright then."

And so, while munching on roasted pheasant and drinking old wine, Karliah told Ruthalia that she had been part of the Thieves Guild in Riften for a long time, but that things have gone wrong drastically. She had been accused of the murder of a man called Gallus. Ruthalia could not help but notice the sadness that entered Karliah's eyes by the mention of his name.

So, now she was on the run, unable to prove herself innocent. Karliah knew Mercer to have killed the man but for that, too, she lacked proof.

Karliah watched Ruthalia's expression after she had finished her story, hoping for clues that she would be willing to help her. The things she could do with a werewolf by her side! Nobody could touch her, and she could cleanse her name of unfair accusations and own her righteous place back into the Thieves Guild. Maybe even lead them!

"Is there anything that would help you? Do you know of a place we could go to? Clues we could find?" Ruthalia asked finally, after what felt like hours to Karliah.

"I have his journal, but it is written in Falmer."

"Falmer?"

"The ancient tongue of the Snow Elves. I have heard, however, that there might be a translation to their language in Markath."

Ruthalia stared at the bottle of wine in her hands. She turned it around slowly while deep in thoughts.

Had it really been smart to come back to this person? She seemed open minded and funny, yes, but what else did Ruthalia know about her? Her name, and that she was being hunted. What if she _did _kill this Gallus, but tried to convince Ruthalia to think otherwise, use her to hide her crimes?

No, this can't be it. There was genuine, sincere sadness in her eyes when she had told her story. And why else would she be out here, all by herself?

Maybe nobody else trusted her. So why Ruth? Why would Ruthalia trust her?

Did she not have a destiny to fulfill? Was she not supposed to bring the Horn to the Graybeards? And meet up with Delphine? Find out more about the dragons' return? The Draugr? The Shouts and their power?

She closed her eyes shut for a second, trying to push all this aside.

She had not asked for this, she had never wanted this and still, here she was, burdened with the supposed fate to save the world.

What she _should _do, so her heart told her, was avenge her master. Kill the Dark Brotherhood. Kill them all!

_Master... _

But there has been no Dark Brotherhood since. No sign of them, no mention, location or anything. She didn't even know if they were in Skyrim or not. But then, what was she doing here? Should she not leave this place to do what was most important to her?

Images of that one dreadful night reappeared before her eyes. The limp, lifeless body of her master underneath her feet, just before she had tripped over him. The silence in his chest, when she had rested her head upon it. His cold skin. The smirk on the woman's face, just before she had taken off.

Her master would have wanted her to move on. And perhaps, he would have wanted her to do what's right and save this land and its people from the upcoming and immediate danger. He would have wanted her to follow the path that had been stretched out before her, _for _her.

But he would have also have wanted Ruthalia to help this woman.

Was Karliah not as much an outcast as she, Ruthalia herself, was? All by herself, with no one to trust or turn to? Abandoned by those closest to her? Maybe this Gallus was to Karliah what the master was to Ruthalia. All she has had. And now, she didn't even have a family, a guild to return to.

"I guess we'll be heading to Markath then," Ruthalia finally said.

Karliah's face lit up and a beautiful smile spread over her lightly gray tanned face. Ruthalia looked at her, the deep purple eyes, the high cheekbones and her slender lips. Her hair was all hidden within the hood, but a single, black strand found its way out of its hiding place and danced over Karliah's shoulder.

"Thank you, Ruth. I appreciate that."


End file.
